By the Lake
by bredalot
Summary: Missing moment in HBP: after the hospital wing scene. Remus and Tonks figure out what's going on.


_Dislcaimer: If you think I own this, you need to read a brilliant book by a woman named J. K. Rowling._

**A/N: Written for a challenge on The Sugar Quill.**

He watched her, quietly unnoticed, as she leaned on the wall, gazing out at the sunrise over the lake. He was worried about her: her normally bright hair was now lank and dull, and her thin body, normally taut with muscle, was nothing but skin and bones. He was worried about her as she faded from worry about him.

He had tried to avoid her over the past year, to protect her, but now she was all he had left. It scared him, how much he needed her. Especially now. But perhaps Dumbledore had had the right of it after all, that nothing was more powerful than love.

He walked up beside her and leaned against the wall. Her body tensed immediately at the nearness of him, just as it always did. He was so close she could smell him, just under the remnants of sweat from the night's battle. Just as the smell of snow, a completely improbable scent of cold, lingers in the winter air, she could smell quietness and strength on him. It smelled like warm stone. It was odd, this heightened sense of smell she always had around him. Maybe she was just more aware, because it was him; maybe she wanted so much to be part of his life that she was taking on wolfish qualities. That made her smile a little, however bitterly. Come to think of it, she could almost smell the wolf on him, hidden so deep under the other scents it was almost unnoticeable. It smelled like…grief.

Looking at him, she remembered his breakdown in the hospital wing, only a few hours before. His face was controlled now, except for the unbearable sorrow in the corners of his mouth and eyes. It made her stomach ache.

"Listen…" they both began. They looked at each other, then Tonks dropped her eyes down and away. "No, me first," she said. Remus continued to watch her, noting the signs of fatigue of the soul on her face. He wanted nothing so much as to smooth the lines of care off her forehead; she was too young for them. But he laced his fingers together and kept his hands on the wall.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That wasn't fair of me. It was just . . . Fleur was so scared, but she wouldn't give him up. I didn't even have the chance. And with the battle and . . . I was just overwhelmed, and tired, and sick of hiding, and I gave up. It wasn't fair of me to do that to you, and I just want you to not feel guilty. You've got enough to worry about."

He listened, and watched her, and toyed with a pebble on top of the wall. The thought of forthright Tonks apologizing for being herself made him oddly angry. That this girl, smart, fun, and brave, would be reduced to a fearful and apologetic wraith seemed to him the greatest tragedy of this war. He knew it was because she was worried about his spying; Merlin, she had told him often enough. But Dumbledore had been prepared to die; Sirius had known the worth of his death. There was no redeeming value in what had happened to Tonks.

"Tonks, I – "

"Let's go back to where we were before, ok? We'll be friends, teammates, and I promise I won't mention this ever again."

"Tonks, I can't."

"Why not?" She was almost accusatory; she had just sacrificed her greatest wishes and dreams so he could be free, and now he refused it?

"I love you," he said, flinging the pebble into the distance. "I'm terrified. Everyone I've ever loved is gone: James, Lily, Peter, Sirius, then Peter again, then Sirius again. I must be the only man to lose his best friends to death twice." He laughed bitterly. The sound hurt her heart, still raw from her confession, her apology, and now this statement. "I didn't want to lose you, and I could never, ever forgive myself if I hurt you. But now, Dumbledore . . . I can't stand it anymore." He turned to face her. "This is stupid. I'm scared of losing you, and I don't deserve you, but if you're willing to take me I'll find some way to keep you."

She was reeling. She could barely stand. She put her hand on his shoulder for balance, looked up at him, and stopped. His eyes, brown and open, were so close. His nose, his cheek, those scars . . . his mouth. She raised herself up, ever so slightly, and froze. She had wanted this for a year, and to have Dumbledore's death be the catalyst scared her. Was this right? Was it fair to Dumbledore? Was it fair to Remus? After all, she could still smell the grief on him; was this just the need for physical comfort? Then McGonagall's words came back to her: "Dumbledore would be happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world." Then Remus's mouth met hers, and her mind temporarily shattered.


End file.
